


the silence of our friends

by egare



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 10 + 1, Ancient Arlathan, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-04
Updated: 2017-08-04
Packaged: 2018-12-10 22:47:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11701458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/egare/pseuds/egare
Summary: "Have we met before?"He saw the healer, covered in blood and sweat and utterly silent, and gave him more than a second glance. Those around him were not granted a look from the town fool, as he only had his sights on Dirthamen, his head tilted. For a moment, he thought Fen'Harel might have recognized him, and might have stopped to say hello. But that was impossible, they had met when he was but a child."I do not believe so, Sir Wolf."(ten conversations Dirthamen has with Fen'Harel (+ one time he does not reply))





	the silence of our friends

_in the end,_

_we do not remember the words of our enemies,_

_but the silence of our friends_

* * *

 

**one.**

Fen'Harel was in his twenties, and Dirthamen only but a child, the first time they spoke.

"Here comes the Dread Wolf!" The children taunted, screaming and running away as their elder took a seat in the field. There was a collection of scrolls in his arms, a sign of a scholar, and Dirthamen became immediately intrigued. What was an elf like that doing in his small village?

The children had broken from their work for lunch, their parents believing that working straight through the entire day was a waste of time. There was work to be done, yes, but there was tomorrow. There was always a tomorrow.

Five of the children had gotten courageous, Falon'Din dragging his brother along to make six small elves huddling under the tree they knew belonged to "Fen'Harel". Falon'Din dared his brother to climb the tree, shouting to Andruil that 'Dirthamen said your girlfriend's a deer!' to goad him into climbing. He wanted to prove to the other children that his brother was not afraid of a coward like Fen'Harel. Who would be? The Dread Wolf had been mocked in front of all of Arlathan. Everyone in all of Elvhenan knew that no one could be afraid of the "man who would set a wolf on your heels," no matter how courageous he seemed against a rising family's leader. Against Dirthamen's father.

But Dirthamen tilted his head from his spot in the tree, not having heard the story of Fen'Harel, and curious as to why someone would willingly bother a man that went by the title the Dread Wolf.

"You do not seem particularly dreadful." Dirthamen pointed out, gazing at the man that had unfurled the first of his many scrolls. Fen'Harel was surprised, and he looked up, head cocked when he noticed the boy in the tree.

"It is a name I do not take pride in."

"Yet you still use it?" He asked, starting to swing his legs back and forth.

"I do not refer to myself as such, no. But others find joy in attempting to belittle me by using the title." Dirthamen said nothing in response, simply nodding as his eyes began to wander. He was looking for a way down, it seemed, and Solas was amused at the look the boy gave when he found no simple way to leave his spot in the tree. "What is your name, da'len?"

"I don't know yet." A curious answer. "My father named me-"

"Dirthamen! Supper is in an hour!" His brother's shouts stopped him from continuing and he gave a sheepish smile in apology for the interruption. Fen'Harel did not seem upset by it, smiling to assure Dirthamen that there was no wrongdoing in his brother's calls for him.

"Secret Keeper. An interesting name. Whose secrets do you keep, child?"

Dirthamen turned down to look at the scholar, and was surprised to see Fen'Harel looking back as well. Their eyes met, his elder's storm blue studying his own vibrant version of the same color, and for a moment Dirthamen lost focus in the real world, his mind drifting elsewhere.

He loves children, but is afraid to end up like his father. He does not want to damn a child to such a fate.

"Everyone's, hahren."

Dirthamen turned away first, focusing his attention on finding a way down from the tree. Solas simply returned to his scrolls, silent.

 

**two.**

"Here comes Fen'Harel!" They are older, the next time they catch sight of one another. Dirthamen believed that Fen'Harel would not remember him, having nearly doubled in his height, and not being particularly memorable in the first place. They had only made idle chatter, after all, and it had been years ago.

He had taken to working in the slums of Arlathan- his family had moved to the higher part of the city a year ago, and against his father's incessant reminders that Dirthamen did not need to work, he did so anyways. In the dirt and poverty of Lower Arlathan, he was simply Glandival'Eth- _trustworthy_ \- a healer and an herbalist. Parents came with troubling news of how their rambunctious children were breaking their legs left and right, and Glandival'Eth was there to fix them up for much less than any other healer charged. They praised him as a kind soul and an honorable elf, and he returned with talk of how he was 'only doing whatever he could to help the People.'

Though he did not mind the occasional pastry by a thankful grandmother.

But Fen'Harel was in the city today, and the children were reckless, going so far as to throw stones at him, hurting themselves more by misthrown projectiles than by the Dread Wolf's wrath. Some of the elders cursed his name, saying he was one of the Banal'aras- what would later be known as the Forgotten Ones, enemies of the Evanuris- and that he could not be trusted. Indeed, he walked alongside Anaris, a known enemy of Dirthamen's father; he thought it was odd, how they squabbled over such an insignificant thing that they had forgotten the reasoning for it. But it had been a hundred years, and they fought on, never even attempting to reach an understanding. Neither of the Banal'aras turned to defend themselves, not raging against those that mocked and jeered.

Fen'Harel was the epitome of calm, but Dirthamen knew how he truly felt. The cracks in his mask were showing to the boy that knew all secrets, yet he only turned his head higher, walking as if he had not a care for those around him. He let his eyes run over those in the street, not pausing to give anyone more than a glance.

Except Dirthamen.

"Have we met?"

He saw the healer, covered in blood and sweat and utterly silent, and gave him more than a second glance. Those around him were not granted a look from the town fool, as he only had his sights on Dirthamen, his head tilted. For a moment, he thought Fen'Harel might have recognized him, and might have stopped to say hello. But that was impossible, they had met when he was but a child.

"I do not believe so, Sir Wolf."

He continued on, saying no more as he turning his eyes to those that jeered. Dirthamen noted the curiosity that was Fen'Harel's look, tilting his head as he watched the wolf continue down the street with a look that made it seem like he was the one judging, not being judged.

 

**three.**

"Dirthamen, leave us be, please."

He saw him only in passing the third time, going to his room and seeing Fen'Harel and Mother in the study. They made eye contact before, with a wave of the town fool's hand, the door closed and locked.

Curious, how he was in the home only when Father and Falon'Din weren't.

 

**four.**

He learned the elf's true name- Solas- the fourth time he saw him.

"You lied, last time we spoke."

"Apologies, sir, it was not my intention."

A lot had changed since the last time they had seen one another- the Evanuris had become well known through all of Elvhenan, moving to a much more extravagant home, forming a wealthy family that other strived to be. The family had grown, though none knew it except Dirthamen and those involved- cousins had lovers, his own brother adopted spirits of the Beyond that he considered his 'children,' and Dirthamen himself had a lover draped over his shoulders, a new part in his day to day life. A friend, yes, an elf with a beautiful smile and well developed body, but at the end of the day she was simply a distraction.

"'Not your intention' to lie? How does one unintentionally lie?"

The fourth time he saw Solas, the two of them were standing in the corner of the largest ballroom in Arlathan, Dirthamen admiring the columns and architecture and engaging in idle chatter. Fen'Harel was hiding from those that did not understand him, and had taken solace with Dirthamen and his lover, finding his spot for the evening in a dark corner of the main hall. He had been the first to speak, recognizing Dirthamen as both the healer and Mythal's son. Dirthamen recognized him as the Dread Wolf, the elf that had spoken on multiple occasions with his mother, the one who had a plan in his mind that Dirthamen was yet to understand.

"I suppose I apologize for getting caught in the act, then."

He and Mother had plans for the future, he knew that much. Dirthamen knew as much the last time he had seen him, when they had closed the door on the inquisitive child, but this was... different. Big. And it seemed like Solas was not aware of the fact that Dirthamen knew, since he had not brought it up all evening. No, the clock hit one and it had not been brought up once, even when Dirthamen's lover left, even when they found time alone.

Fen'Harel was approached by Father as the clock struck, a curiosity in and of itself as Elgar'nan held no love for the elf that had weaseled his way into the family through Mythal's friendship and Falon'Din's admiration. The conversation was pleasant, all things considered. It veiled threats of murder if Fen'Harel didn't back away, to which the Dread Wolf replied that it was Mythal's decision if he was to be slaughtered or not. There were times when Father accused Solas of being a spy, to which he replied he had proven his loyalty to Mythal and the rest of the family time and time again, and Dirthamen wondered vaguely when that had been proved- surely, he would have been involved in the confirmation of Fen'Harel's loyalty; Mother knew that he was good at seeing the hidden motives of others.

It had not been a strategically sound plan, to confront a silver tongue while in company- Elgar'nan was walking the line between being made silent with complacency and overreacting to the point of embarrassment in his anger. It was with luck that a messenger came running for the most influential elf in Arlathan.

It was unlucky, that the messenger brought word of a Banal'aras scout caught just over the hill from the northeast.

 

**five.**

"Your father has been raised to godhood, it seems."

"He did not stop the Banal'aras. Someone else did."

They stood in the ruins of Arlathan, the next time they met. Elgar'nan, with a fury more destructive than the flames his cousin had introduced to the world, held back the agents of the Banal'aras with a small army long enough for the people of Arlathan to retreat. It had been drastic, how they attacked after so long of only petty arguments and jeers. Elgar'nan let the people of Arlathan move into the forests, protected, as they made their way to a farther off town. A few detached from the group to warn the next city of a possible upcoming attack.

"That is not what the People say."

"They have been blinded in their relief."

Even from miles away, they were able to see as Elgar'nan burned the city to the ground. But there were rumors of the spirit of vengeance being so powerful enough to stop the entirety of the Banal'aras by himself, as he was the only one to come back, the army he had taken with him forgotten by the common people. There were rumors of him putting away half of his fortune to help rebuild the city he had destroyed, to make it more extravagant than it had been before.

"Will you remove their blindfold?"

There were rumors of him becoming a god, protecting them from the shadows that threatened them.

"Do you wish me to?"

They did not consider that Elgar'nan burned his own elves for the safety of Elvhenan, but Dirthamen did. As did Solas, if the way he turned away, disgusted, from anyone that interacted with or spoke praise of Elgar'nan.

"No. I did not throw them to the Void for attention."

"Why did you, Solas? I thought you were their allies."

"They were getting too powerful. Power corrupts everything it touches."

"And if _you_  were to get a taste of power one day?"

"I would never forgive myself if that were to ever be the case."

 

**six.**

He could have warned of Solas' plans. He knew the basics, getting flashes of pure darkness in his dreams, images of Solas apologizing and raging and guilty and so _angry_.

"Dirthamen, why do you look at me like that?"

"Like what, Solas?"

"Like I have killed your favorite halla."

But he said nothing, as June was finally introduced into the family, as he was made into one of them by Dirthamen's smiling father. His 'sister' Sylaise was not related to them, but close enough to the Evanuris to be one, and be a part of the family. Hence, Dirthamen got a new brother in law. As Eth'Glandival he heard the people speaking of the newest member of the Evanuris, one that worked hard to achieve his godhood. A master of the crafts, one that had introduced needful things to the People long before he became a god among the Elvhen. With a warm smile and a kind hand he worked among the people with his brother-in-law, and was given the name Falon'Alas- friend of the earth.

"You have yet to do anything wrong, I apologize if my resting face upsets you."

"'Yet to do'?"

He could have warned of Solas' plans. He knew the basics, of a large invisible wall shutting them in, of the end of elvhen immortality at hands that he could not see the owners of.

"It is nothing, Solas."

But he said nothing, as Andruil introduced her past lover to the rest of the family- it was not that Ghilan'nain no longer held a spot in her heart, but she was, well, a deer. She explained the tale of how she had been hiding her lover for years, and only recently decided to come out with the truth due to the fact that she was going to help Ghilan'nain recover properly from her changed body. And he smiled at his cousin and... cousin-pet, before they departed from the family the morning after introducing her. She did not disguise her disgust for Elgar'nan, nor the fact that they had fought when she suggested leaving for a while so she could help Ghilan'nain get used to her new body.

"You know of my plans."

"I... yes."

"Yet you do not give warning?"

He could have warned of Solas' plans. He knew the basics, when Solas and he made eye contact across the garden. Fen'Harel held Mother close and Dirthamen remembered that Father was out of the house with Falon'Din. They had no concern with Dirthamen seeing them, him being such a quiet son, a good son, Mythal's favorite, able to keep a secret.

"It is not my place."

He could have warned of Solas' plans.

"It effects your entire family, Dirthamen."

But he said nothing.

"It is not my place."

 

**seven.**

They met in a library, next- specifically, Elgar'nan's study. Dirthamen, looking to be the age Solas appeared as the first time they met, seated on a windowsill with a leg hanging down, a book in his hands and a look of concentration on his face. His hair was braided back, a compromise of him wishing to keep his hair but Mother asking him to cut it.

Fen'Harel was simply looking, for Mother, most likely. He was startled when Dirthamen spoke, not having heard him where he was seated. But Fen'Harel gave a nod of greeting, as Dirthamen offered a wave of his own, before starting rather cryptically,

"I do not blame you."

By his lack of surprise, he assumed Fen'Harel had been told by Mother of the full extent of Dirthamen's... unique abilities, of how he picked up on what others did not, and how he was thankful that he did not have a large mouth to spill secrets from. He did not seem surprised by, nor wanting to comment on why Dirthamen did not blame Fen'Harel for how his parents arguements got worse and worse over the years.  

"They are in Father's room. He was meant to leave the house yesterday, but they've been arguing for days."

Solas nodded his thanks, but was silent as he turned around to avoid Elgar'nan. It was odd, how Dirthamen's elder trusted him with his secret, how when he assured his mother he would not tell Father what she was doing with the Dread Wolf she only smiled, and said "Fen'Harel trusts you to keep it secret, and I trust him."

He did not say how it was ironic to trust a man that went by the name of the Dread Wolf, but not the one that she was married to.

 

**eight.**

The next time they met, Mythal was kneeling on the floor and sobbing over her son's body. Dirthamen was broken and bruised and in enough pain for him to cry out for mercy, wanting a knife to plunge into his heart and put him out of misery.

A lot had happened, between their two most recent meetings. Dirthamen had been so concentrated on Solas and his growing plans that he had not noticed his own Father's twisted ideas forming in his head. Elgar'nan's plans to save the family, as there were growing rumors of creatures of short lives that had been dubbed _shemlen_ , ones that were able to kill elves just by standing next to them. A few had snuck into the slums of the city, and Dirthamen had come in contact with them. He greeted them and offered help and exchanged notes with the round-eared healer of the group, all the while shaking hands and offering objects and accepting things that had touched _shemlen_ hands.

He had gotten sick two days later, stuck in bed with a cough and nausea that he had no experience healing. His family had offered comfort from a distance, unsure of how to help, watching as a terrible cough plagued his lungs and his body refused to stop shaking for days. He vomited everything he ate, he slept and was still tired no matter how long he rested, and he was freezing cold, although his mother assured him his forehead was burning up. She was the only one willing to come near him.

His father was nowhere to be seen the entire time, not until he had snuck into Dirthamen's room and pulled him away.

 _They were gods in the eyes of the People,_ Elgar'nan had explained as he dragged Dirthamen out of the library, _they should live as long as possible to serve the community_. They were meant to be above such petty things like illness, they had to have an advantage against the newest creatures of the world. Isolation wouldn't protect them forever, Dirthamen was proof of it.

And the boy accepted, even if his mind was screaming at him to run. This was his father- he wouldn't purposefully hurt Dirthamen, would he? It was just the fever talking, paranoia running wild as his body attempted to cope with newly introduced stressors.

Elgar'nan was standing in the doorway of the room, his wife having ordered him to not enter after she realized what he had done. All the servants with Elgar'nan's mark were dismissed from the entire second floor, and those of Mythal's were brought to help her eldest son survive the twisted experiment his father had done. Dirthamen's own joined soon after, more healers and scholars having taken his mark than anyone else's.

Fen'Harel stood beside Dirthamen's mother, saying nothing to the hurt elf as he tried to pull Mythal away, to make room for the healers. It was fourteen hours later- and they now thought in _hours_ , they were _mortal_ and their age was catching up to them- that the servants successfully healed Dirthamen enough for the boy to open his eyes. They made Mythal cry out in anguish and Fen'Harel paused in his greeting, shocked.

A vibrant red, contrasting the blue it once was.

"Solas...?"

He did not say anything as he backed away, horror hitting Solas as he realized what Elgar'nan had done. Yet even though he knew the answer, he could not help but breathe out,

"What has he done to you, Dirthamen?"

Elgar'nan and Fen'Harel begrudgingly accepted each other's presence as they stood in the doorway, alone together, Mythal having excused herself to her room. She had to collect herself, the shock of what had happened hitting her hard. Magic used with blood was not looked down upon, no, but this was clearly blood magic, controlling Dirthamen. How far his reach went, no one could tell.

"Elgar'nan, to your own son... how could you?"

"It is for the betterment of Our People, Fen'Harel." He spoke as if he was simply stating the weather, not about how he had destroyed his son's life, "We can gain the immortality we have lost. I have almost succeeded in recreating our gift. Dirthamen's sacrifice... it will be worth it."

"You speak as if you think he will not survive."

"It is an outcome I am prepared for. Mythal might never forgive me, but it is for the People. Everything I do is for the People."

 

**nine.**

Newfound immortality hit Dirthamen hard, watching from a metaphorical window as his family received the 'gift' in its perfected form, whether they wanted it or not. He watched as the people raised the Evanuris to godhood, more and more elves willingly submitting to the markings that Elgar'nan took glee in placing on the faces of the masses. Others of his family took servants among the towns as well, mostly to save them from the hard grip of the 'Father of Vengeance.' Mythal particularly, took great care of claiming anyone recently of age, male and female alike, to keep them away from the wandering eyes and hands of her husband. It was odd to see an elf, no matter how common or noble they were, without the markings of their newest gods. Perhaps they did not serve in the palace, but they were most definitely still servants of the Evanuris.

Fen'Harel did not hide his disgust as he saw marked faces around Arlathan, but found comfort in the fact that Mythal led hurt men and women away from the palace and to the Dread Wolf; he would take off the markings and let them work for him if they had no where else to go, or be free if they wished to. He had a collection of workers, paid, and treated well, and it started to seem like every bare-faced elf was one of the Dread Wolf's.

It started to seem like every bare faced elf was an agent of the enemy, according to Elgar'nan.

The ninth time they met, Solas spoke to him. Dirthamen had not left his room for weeks, the few scholars he had marked before his symptoms had gotten too hard to bear showing concern for their chosen god. They begged Mythal for a sense of comfort, for reassurance that Dirthamen was alright. She smiled and nodded and said all the right words, not letting them in on the fact that Dirthamen was still having symptoms due to his father's carelessness in his experimentation; the others of the family were all fine, returned to their former immortal glory, but Dirthamen was... weaker. He sat on his bed with his hands over his ears, secrets coming from all directions, whispers and gossip having no reason to enter his mind but forcing their way through anyways. The gift that he once used as a party trick, something that just added to his day, now made him enter an almost fugue state, rendering him incapable of completing even the most basic of tasks. His hands had never stopped shaking, and for all the ways his hearing had gotten better, his mind got weak.

 _Your followers are worried for you._ He was surprised, to hear Fen'Harel's voice through all the others. Indeed, it was as if everyone else got quieter as he focused on the voice that spoke his thoughts directly to Dirthamen's mind. The boy could not reply, as Solas did not have the same curse he did, but he took comfort in the other's words as he continued.

_There are healers here, willing to help. There are some that wish only for Glandival'Eth to return to his people. You only need to unlock the door._

Dirthamen had not opened his door that first day, but it did not seem to matter. Solas had returned the day after, providing comfort from the bombardment of dozens of thoughts, offering a familiar face among the crowd.

_The scholars argue over your state. You might want to clarify if you are actually alive._

Solas had been busy the third day, offering only words of hope, before having to continue with his duties while the sun was still up.

_We all worry for you, Glandival'Eth. Get well soon._

The ninth time they met, Dirthamen opened his bedroom door to Fen'Harel, accepting the embrace that was given before he was pulled away by healers. When he turned back to give his thanks, the Dread Wolf was gone.

 

**ten.**

There were arguments over what Elgar'nan had done to their son, their family, ones Solas was not able to to participate in because Father had yet to accept the place the Dread Wolf had in the hearts of those closest to him. Mythal screamed and raged against the elf that did the same, trying to defend himself as she tried to defend her loved ones. Dirthamen was on the other side of the door, quiet, seated next to Fen'Harel and listening as his existence tore the family apart.

"You are not at fault." He offered comfort as he recognized the guilt on Dirthamen's face; it was a look that many of them held, as the family was raised to godhood due to Elgar'nan and his experiments, as Solas planned vengeance and now knew the boy beside him knew.

"She would have fought for Falon'Din as well." Dirthamen replied, showing that he indeed knew it wasn't his fault. "I find no comfort in knowing this was inevitable."

"They have fought for hundreds of years, Dirthamen. This is just another argument."

He hummed, a half-hearted agreement that put Solas on edge. The elder turned to Dirthamen, worry in his eyes and suspicion in his gaze.

"What does that response mean?"

"Inevitable." He repeated, covering his ears just in time to shield himself from a high pitched scream.

"Dirthamen, what is happening?" Solas went to the door but it is locked in place, and all he could do was pound on the wood and hope that Mythal was okay. Magic sealing it, making it stronger than anything he flung in its direction in anger. "Dirthamen!"

Solas shouted his birth name with rage because he saw Dirthamen as one of the enemies, no longer standing alongside him and Mythal against Elgar'nan and the rest of the family. Dirthamen was no longer the elf that had helped in the slums, but was once again only Elgar'nan's son, a 'god' among his people. In Solas' anger, he pulled up Dirthamen by his collar and slammed against a wall, wanting to take his anger out on the elf that knew what was going to happen. He could have warned them, he could have tried to change things!

"Let go of my son."

The response was immediate- Dirthamen saw Solas tense, but he did not remove his hands the moment Elgar'nan asked him to. He waited, too prideful to do as he was told automatically, before slowly releasing Dirthamen and backing away. Solas- no, Fen'Harel- took two steps back, watching as Elgar'nan clapped a bloodied hand down on Dirthamen's shoulder, startling his son. The boy made eye contact with the Dread Wolf, and he was reminded of the first time they met eyes, Dirthamen helpless and stuck, Solas beneath him but free. But instead of offering his help to get Dirthamen out of the limbs of the tree, Fen'Harel stumbled away, furious. Dirthamen was able to sense his plans from miles away, as his anger reached a level he could no longer keep held in.

The night after his mother's death, Dirthamen prayed for his brother and cousins. He prayed for his mother, hoping Brother would help her find peace. And he prayed for Fen'Harel, wishing that the elf would find comfort in his upcoming actions.

He did not pray for his father, and most certainly did not pray for himself.

 

**\+ one.**

Solas did not meet his eyes, the final time they met. He kept his eyes on his bladed staff, knuckles white with how hard he grasped it, standing only mere feet away from his target. He knew it would not kill Dirthamen, not with how Elgar'nan had given his family bastardized versions of immortality, but it would incapacitate him enough to get the job done. It would incapacitate him like it had Falon'Din, Sylaise, Andruil, Ghilan'nain, June, and Elgar'nan.

Dirthamen did not step away as the Wolf took a step forward, and Solas wondered why he did not do anything to protect himself. Even now, there were guards capable of taking the Dread Wolf down just on the other side of the door, yet he did nothing to stop what Fen'Harel was certain he knew would happen. Dirthamen knew that he had been targeted last because he had been Mother's favorite, because he had never been unkind to the Dread Wolf. Fen'Harel had given him a chance to run, a chance to save himself.

A chance to save them both.

It was infuriating, to see the man so calmly stand in front of who was to be his future jailor. Dirthamen must have known he had done nothing wrong, but still he simply accepted that it was the way it was meant to be! What did he know? What was he not sharing? Why did he calmly stare into the face of the Dread Wolf, and not do anything to save himself?

"You do not seem particularly dreadful."

Fitting, how the two of them came full circle, Dirthamen's first words to the Dread Wolf becoming his last as the end of Solas' staff went through his chest, rendering him silent. The sound of Dirthamen dropping to the floor echoed through the room, a sound that would haunt Solas for years to come, but the Dread Wolf did not change his mind as he gathered the body, knowing he had to take care of it before imprisoning the soul.

He did not look back as the family home burned to the ground, the bodies of the Evanuris with it, their souls staying in the city that turned black in the newly created Fade. He did not look back as his People called for their gods and received no answers, no help, as the Veil limited their powers and destroyed the last of their immortality. He did not look back as the humans invaded, bringing Elvhenan down.

He did not look back before he went into hiding, the People cursing his name and running him out of every city that still stood.

Slowly, he became content with the idea of traveling the newly created Fade, knowing that it would not let his memories haunt him. It was to be a peace he would not find while on the run in the waking world. Solas knew he would be safe from the blue gaze that turned red, from the guilt he felt as he watched his People fall around him; all he needed to do was lie down and go to sleep.

And so he did, finding peace as the silence guided him to _uthenera_ , the quiet accompanying him for centuries to follow.


End file.
